Alice Will Come Back
by BrilliantlyMadSparrow
Summary: Tarrant is convinced that Alice will come back one day. Chessur is a bit more skeptical.  This takes place just before the 2010 movie


Alice _Will_ Come Back

"And so you see, my dear Mally, that is where Thackery is correct," a slightly lisping voice belonging to a hatter, the Mad Hatter, Tarrant Hightopp, said, "Scrimberry scones would indeed have that effect on a snufflewumpus."

"Are you sure, 'Atter?" the Dormouse, Mallymkun, asked doubtfully, "Nothing better than a scone, 'specially scrimberry. Would it really do that?"

Tarrant merely nodded knowingly.

The March Hare, Thackery Earwicket, squealed in delight. "Thackery was right! Right he was! Scrimberry, scrimberry, scrimberry scones!" He laughed like the madman, mad _hare_, that he was and fired a teacup, still filled to the brim with tea, across the table. Mally dove out of the way then took a sip from her tea-filled thimble, a thimble because she could've gone swimming in a regular teacup, grumbling. She hated being wrong.

Tarrant hummed a lilting little song as he poured himself a cup of tea. Just as he was satisfied that the cup was full, there was a screeching scream that echoed through the windmill's clearing, where the tea tables were. Tarrant looked up to see Thackery trying to hide under a teacup. Chessur, the Cheshire Cat, had appeared right beside the poor hare, calmly stirring an entire creamer's-worth of cream to a single cup of tea. Mallymkun was laughing her head off at Thackery's shocked fright.

"Hello, Chess," Tarrant smiled good-naturedly at the grinning cat, "Nice of you to join us."

"You're late for _tea_!" Thackery shrieked, ready to throw the china that had graced his head seconds before. Upon a warning glance from their feline friend, however, he squeaked in fear and put the teacup down on the table so forcefully that it snapped neatly in two. He looked at it forlornly, picking up both halves, then chucked the right one over his shoulder and began to fill the left one with tea.

"To what do we owe the honor, Chess?" Tarrant asked politely.

"Tarrant, I wouldn't dream of missing one of your parties," Chessur answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "I did once. Dreadful nightmarish stuff, you know. Wouldn't recommend it."

Tarrant nodded once, "I shall make a note not to even dream about missing one of my own parties." He proceeded to glance around to see if someone had perhaps left a scrap of paper lying around somewhere.

Chessur looked around the table. He saw no guests besides Tarrant, Thackery, and Mally, and no sign of what the delightful trio of lunatics was celebrating. He looked back at Tarrant, "May _I_ inquire as to the occasion?"

Tarrant, who had reluctantly forgone the search for paper and decided it best to make a mental note, pretended to be shocked, "Really, Chess. Does one need an occasion to enjoy fine tea with one's dearest friends?" He ducked to avoid a teapot launched into the air by Thackery. "But if you really must know," Tarrant continued gleefully, "Today is a very special day indeed. We're finally going to be free of the Red Queen!" He whispered the last sentence conspiratorially.

Chessur's eyes widened slightly in surprise, "And why might that be?" There was a ravenous tone to his voice, and, beneath that, something else glimmered. Hope?

Tarrant looked at Chessur like he couldn't believe the cat didn't already know, "Why, the champion is returning, of course."

Chessur's eyebrows, or, at least, whatever constitutes eyebrows on a feline, knit together, "And who is that exactly?"

Now Tarrant really _was_ shocked. "Chess, you naughty cat, how could you not know? Alice is coming back to Underland!" Again, he lowered his voice for the last sentence so as not to be overheard should any Red Guards be passing by.

Chessur's spirits sank noticeably. His shoulders slumped slightly, his grin drooped a notch, and the excited hope was completely gone from his voice when he said, "Oh, _that_ nonsense again."

Tarrant looked truly hurt, "It's not nonsense, Chess. Alice _is_ coming back."

"As you've said every year on the day she first came," Chessur said in a rather bored tone of voice, "And each year, she hasn't come."

"I'm sure she had a perfectly good reason for being so late," Tarrant said assuredly.

"Tarrant," Chessur said, with the air of speaking to a very young child, "Alice isn't just late – she isn't coming at all."

"I don't believe you," Tarrant said simply, "She'll come back."

"Get it through that tophat-wearing head of your, Tarrant," Chessur said, "Alice. Isn't. Coming."

Tarrant seemed to be having a hard time controlling himself. "Yes. She. Is," he managed to spit out.

Mally and Thackery, who were both now sitting silent watching argument, noticed that Tarrant was visibly shaking. Oh dear, this had to be stopped before something bad happened. " 'Atter?" Mally said cautiously. She hoped Chessur would be quiet so as not to aggravate Tarrant any further.

But, of course, he wasn't.

"Perhaps you should stop making hats out of mercury-cured pelts," Chessur suggested, surprisingly snidely, "I think the mercury is accomplishing the impossible – making you even more insane. Alice is _never_ coming back."

That did it. There was a veritable explosion of rage from Tarrant. In one fluid motion, he stood up from the table and began storming toward Chessur. Thackery squeaked in fear and hid under a chair.

Tarrant advanced quickly and menacingly towards Chessur, jaw set and teeth clenched in anger. His usually electric green eyes flashed a bright orange, marred by a brilliant scarlet. Even the Madness was angry.

When he shouted, gone was the sweet, English-accented, lisping voice. In its place was the deep, admittedly rather scary, Outlandish brogue.

"I don' care what ye say, ye worthless ball o' fur," he snarled, his voice increasing in volume and intensity with each word spoken, "Alice _will_ come back. An' if ye don' think I should use mercury pelts anymore, maybe I should make a hat outta _you_, ye slurking, urpal, slackush, scru-"

"Hatter!" Mally shouted shrilly, in as loud a voice as she could manage.

That seemed to snap Tarrant out of it. He stood for a moment, still leaning toward Chessur, teetering slightly, then blinked and choked out a strained, "I'm fine." He straightened up and went back to his own chair.

Chessur sat for a moment, a bit shocked. But, he supposed, he shouldn't have been. Tarrant was always on edge on the anniversary of the day a young girl called Alice had come to Underland. Even so, it was still unexpected, as he was generally such a kind person, when Tarrant shouted at someone. Especially when he reverted back to his Outlandish accent. The resonating burr only appeared when Tarrant was very upset. And who could blame him for being upset after waiting over a decade for someone who would probably never show up.

"I'll… I'll be going then," Chessur said uncomfortably.

"Terribly sorry you couldn't stay, Chess," Tarrant said, the brogue giving way back to the lisp. Tarrant did look sorry, but he still looked strained and upset, as well.

"As am I," Chessur awkwardly excused himself. He curled his tail around himself, and disappeared, reappearing somewhere far away from the tea tables.

There was an uneasy silence then at the tea party. Tarrant just sat and stared off into space.

"Don't worry, 'Atter," Mally said comfortingly, "I'm sure Alice will come back."

"But _when_?" Tarrant asked, with something like desperation in his voice. He placed his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands, covering his eyes, evidently blocking out the world.

Mally was at a loss for an answer. Luckily, Thackery saved her from having to say another when he jumped out from under the chair up onto the table and asked, in the shrieking voice of his, "What would happen if a _momerath_ ate a scrimberry scone?"

Tarrant looked up, a glint in his once again green eyes, though they were flecked with tiny specks of orange. "Well, that is quite an interesting question, Thackery, and it has quite interesting answer. You see, if a momerath were to ingest a scrimberry scone it would immediately…"

And this is where we take our leave of the tea party, allowing our stark raving mad trio to find refuge from the world within the sanctuary of utter insanity.


End file.
